Irrelevant anecdotal narrative about angels and smoking at a B&B

leaving the stage, Pearl called out, “Vice dick!” | was fully dressed, but it didn’ t matter. This was a perfect example of tit for tat. Or dick for tit. My old friend Steve Gaskin and | were staying at a bed-and- breakfast house where there were angels all over the place. Stuffed angels, plastic angels, plaster-of-paris angels, embroidered angels, stained-glass angels, paplier-mache’ angels, teddy-bear angels and origami angels. There were angel dolls and angel paintings and angel sculptures and even an angel mobile hanging from the ceiling. In the bathroom, there was an angel tissue-dispenser and an angel night-light. On a table in the hallway, there was a pile of Ange/s on Earth magazine. On the bureau in my room, there was a copy of Whispers From Heaven, featuring such articles as “Feeding Angels,” “When Angels Kiss" and “Rescued by Angels: The Amazing Story of a Kidnapping Survivor.” Gaskin’ s room had a door that led to the roof, and the first night we sat out there and smoked a joint. The next day there was a note taped to the door: “The roof is to be used only as a fire escape. Please use the patio.” The next night we smoked a joint in my room. And the next day there was a “No Smoking” sign on the inside of my door, and the electric fan was on, aimed toward the now-open window. HOUSE_OVERSIGHT_015224